


Purple & Gold

by kinpika



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eren is a gypsy boy and Jean is the hopeless captain, Hunchback of Notre Dame AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> No, of course he saw the goat first, dancing around a feathered hat, and had even thrown a few coins in, but as he raised his eyes, Jean couldn’t deny it was mesmerising.</i>
</p><p>Had he known that returning home from the wars would involve him in overthrowing Judge Reiss, Jean wasn't sure he would have said 'yes'.<br/><br/><b>ON HOLD</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple & Gold

**Author's Note:**

> all that fanart finally got to me years later

How long had it been since he had set foot in Paris? For several days, his only companion had been a small retinue of soldiers, and the dull _clip clop_ sound of horseshoes against dirt. So, when there was no longer a dull noise and finally a ringing sensation that bounces between his ears, Jean lets out a sigh. They had made it into the city, finally, and people swarmed, moving here, there, brushing past him almost too close. 

Jean couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a solid building, beyond the several castles or inns on the way back home. Those didn’t count, he mused, as he turned the map around once more. Whilst they all had four wall and a roof, none had thick stone walls surrounding them. Where he stood, walking into another plaza with houses that towered two, three stories above, he realised he was lost. 

The small retinue of soldiers he had been travelling with he had left behind, but as he looked over his shoulder, Jean wasn’t too sure he could retrace his steps back to the barracks. 

“It’s only been a couple of decades,” he says, horse snorting in response as the crowd moved around him. No one even sent him a passing glance, and Jean wasn’t too sure if he appreciated falling into the backdrop of the city after all he had seen and done. “It’s like they’ve changed everything on purpose.

“Excuse me!” He called, as a group of soldiers conveniently walked past. Finally, he thinks, going to shout again, “I’m looking for the Palace of Justice could you…”

They ignored him, one only looking him over before smirking and moving on. For a moment, Jean considered shouting a bit more just to really attract their attention, but he just sighs out a “I suppose not,” and continued walking. If memory served, they should be close. But, it had been closer to a quarter century since he had been inside Paris, far longer than he would have liked to admit, and memory didn’t serve at all.

Behind him, Marco trotted, getting more points and stares than he himself had. I shouldn’t be surprised, Jean mused, and pulled his cloak around him tighter. Whilst he was sure it would be easier to get directions should he reveal himself (and armour), there was something about being incognito. The more Jean walked, and melded in with the rest, the more he realised it wasn’t such a bad feeling after all. If anything, it was like he had never went away, and that he could appreciate.

Buying warm bread on the way, Jean is partway through shoving it into his mouth when he catches movement out the corner of his eyes. It’s enough to have him lower his hand, Marco swiping at the bread the moment it was within reach. 

In front of him, he caught the music first before he saw the fluttering of cloth. Rich, purple, lined with gold even in this day and age. A mother pulled her daughter away with the hiss of “gypsies!” but Jean didn’t turn. No, of course he saw the goat first, dancing around a feathered hat, and had even thrown a few coins in, but as he raised his eyes, Jean couldn’t deny it was mesmerising.

There’s a turn, a raised hand that slaps a tambourine lightly. Eyes, deep and green, that catch the light as he focuses, spies Jean, grins. He winks, and Jean feels his lips curl upward, as he watches the man spin around on the spot, playing alongside the tune from the woman beside him. Jean watches the bracelets at his arms click against each other with each movement, and he thinks it wasn’t so bad coming home.

Scratching his cheek as he continues to watch the man with dark skin tumble and twirl, Jean throws another coin in for good measure, and the pace picks up again. A laugh, this time, accompanies the music, and it’s such an unfamiliar sound to Jean he hadn’t realised it had come from himself.

But, there’s a whistle. Someone is running along the top of the wall, climbing over a roof. Jean barely catches the trace of blond hair before the boy disappears, and everything happens at once. The man says something aside to the woman, and she’s off first, scaling the wall the boy had disappeared over as he collects the coins.

Soldiers appear from either side of Jean, stepping past him without a glance, and swarm the remaining gypsy. Jean watched the exchange, grip around Marco’s reins tightening. 

Snatching the hat that contained his earnings away, holding it out of reach, the man fixed the nearest soldier with a glare. It did nothing but humour them, cold metal circling around the man’s arm, tight enough that it would bruise. “Let go!” he shouts, and people scamper away. Jean had been away far too long, it seemed, and couldn’t help the growing disgust as he watched the soldiers handle the man. 

This is what people were like. Jean had remembered a fellow at the camp, one who he had named his horse after even in memory, who had returned to the wars after a short visit home. Before Marco had passed, he had talked about how times had changed since they were home — Jean understood what he had meant now. It wasn’t just the buildings changing, but the people.

Finally, the gypsy moves, leg arcing upwards and catching a soldier in the chin, knocking him back. Another launches himself, and suffers the same fate of his fellow, flat on his ass, as the gypsy swipes his leg along the ground. Stunned, the last of the men takes a step back, but it was too late for him. His goat leaps, catching the last in the gut, and they’re running past Jean. 

Jean catches faint scents of powder, earthy and yet sweet, and he’s dragging Marco into the line of the soldiers who had picked themselves up to give chase. They all catch along Marco’s hind, and Jean knew his horse would give him hell for it later, but they crash, one landing in a nearby puddle. 

“Marco, _sit_.”

Once, Jean had wondered what it would it would be like to be sat on by a horse. Of course, he had been very young and foolish at that time, instead receiving a hoof to his sternum. But as he watched the soldier flail under the weight of Marco, he knew he could gain an answer from that alone.

“Oh, I am so sorry! Horses these days, just impossible!” Jean leans against Marco, patting his neck. “You just can’t take him anywhere.”

“Get this beast off of me!” The soldier is trying to raise himself as he yells, digging his feet into the pavement as he struggles. 

One of the remaining soldiers pulls a sword. Or at least, Jean assumes it’s a sword. It was more like a knife than a sword. Drawing his own, he knows now would be a good time to reveal himself, throwing his cloak back as he raises his weapon. Soldiers falter in their attack as they recognise the armour. Jean was glad that talk of the golden suit had even made its way to the ears of Parisians.

“Captain Kirstein?!”

Jean grins. “In the flesh.”

Maybe he should’ve done this in the first place, as he’s being led through the streets with announcements. Whilst he had wanted to avoid the staring and the pointing, it was easier being led to the Palace than to follow a map that was several years old. Dropping his gaze, Jean catches the glint of gold on the floor, and reaches down to pick up four coins.

There are several twists and turns Jean doesn’t recognise, until he finally does. This road is familiar, he thinks, throwing the coins in his hand before catching them again. They were nearly at the Palace. 

As they continue walking, Jean came across a hooded, old man on the side of the road. But he recognised the feather in the hat, and drops the coins. The action seems to startle the old man, who nearly drops his pipe. Looking over his shoulder, he spies the gypsy from earlier, and offers a small wave, before disappearing around a corner. When he closes his eyes in the sudden sun, he sees green, and when he opens them, he sees a startling white amongst the brown and grey. 

Judge Reiss was exactly like the rumours had suggested. Being led deep under the Palace, Jean finds himself in a crude dungeon, and meets Judge Reiss. There are the sounds of man screaming in the background, despite the pleasant introductions. Reiss mentions was his previous captain, who had apparently gone against orders once. 

“I was taken out of the war to arrest a bunch of fair-goers,” Jean almost spits. If it weren’t for his rigid training when it came to dealing with those who viewed themselves far above ‘the rabble’, Jean was sure he would be alongside the previous captain. It was an oddly appealing end for him when Reiss grinned and stretched his arms wide.

“They are more than just _that_. Thieves, scoundrels. They never seem to die and disappear, always creeping back onto the streets no matter how many times we cull them.”

Reiss looks back in the room, as another crack of the whip comes down on the man. There’s a scream that catches in his throat, and Jean wonders if it was too late to see if his commanding officer back in the war would allow him return. Once, Jean had thought this to be a prestigious job, personally summoned by Judge Reiss. But now he understood why so many others had turned it down.

Eventually, they leave behind the dungeon. Climbing the stairs, Jean doesn’t comment on the silence, broken only by questions about the war. Jean hadn’t thought that Judge Reiss would be so behind on the effort, but he only pressed when it came to those he had asked to help him. Noting that, Jean kept his answers short and clipped, until they come up to a walkway overlooking Paris. Any other day, Jean was sure a view like this was something else, but the man beside him made it sour.

Judge Reiss starts talking about a nest of gypsies, buried somewhere underneath Paris. Jean catches on, despite his grievances about the intent to kill innocent people. No matter what he would say, however, he knew that it would go nowhere (his thoughts also fell to the captain stuck below the Palace). As Judge Reiss leaned over the railing, pointing towards the square in front of the Palace, Jean followed suit, looking down.

Below him was the gypsy from earlier, spinning around once more. Laughing. Sunlight caught his hair, the golden ring in his ear throwing a shine against the wall, glinting up towards them. Even from so high up, Jean watched it all, and could almost hear the noise, and remembered fondly how the man had twirled and winked.

Judge Reiss must have noted his hesitation in the matter, and clasped his hands at his front. Chilled, that was the word Jean would’ve used to describe the look he was sent. Almost like Judge Reiss was doubting his own summons. “We must end their defiance, Captain. I trust that you can handle something of this manner.”

It was the last chance he had, he could tell straight away. Jean straightened, raised his chin and answered. He couldn’t go back to the war now, even if he wanted to. Judge Reiss wouldn’t let that happen. “Yessir.”

**Author's Note:**

> this will only be like 5 chapters long at most tbh its been sitting unfinished for 500yrs but i watched HOND again and i remembered all that fanart of eren shoving a candelabra in captain jean's face and i was like  
> yEAH YEAH YEAH
> 
> also a lot shorter than a lot of my usual work bc I'm breaking it up into 5~ chapters so forgive me...


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